


In Which Illya gets the Super Soldier Serum

by halwen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Implied death of OC children, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Podfic Welcome, Polyamory, stealth Winter Soldier (Marvel character) cameo, super soldier!Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halwen/pseuds/halwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Illya didn't get the full serum; he got an imitation, a knock-off, and he's lucky it didn't kill him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Illya gets the Super Soldier Serum

Ok, so Illya didn't get the full serum; he got an imitation, a knock-off, and he's lucky it didn't kill him.

In another universe, the recruiting agent looked at him, a scrawny and too-short eight-year old, and decided that the child wouldn't survive. In that other universe, he does survive (there is no universe in which he doesn't) and lives to become half of U.N.C.L.E.'s best team. But in this one, the agent sees potential, and pulls him out of line, and three days later he's getting a child-dose of the serum.

The scientists aren't sure he'll survive the dose, aren't sure it will be enough to make a difference, aren't sure what to do with him when he comes out of the machine and there's no obvious change. Luckily for Illya, the officer in charge has children, and is aware that they sometimes need time to develop; when his superiors ask about his results, he tell them that it's too early to tell, that perhaps the children - there are six of them, three boys and three girls - should be sent to the Red Room for training, since his staff here are ill-equipped for that.

 

Two weeks later, the children - only four now, two and two, and no one will tell them why - arrive at a large mansion, where twenty-four foot fences surround immaculately kept grounds that seem to have been made into an obstacle course of sorts, lengths of barbed wire and delicately manicured lawns. Illya counts fifteen guards before he is marched through the heavy double doors.

 

He will never remember much of the next twelve years. Other operatives, years later, will remember ballet lessons, language lessons, chemistry and mathematics and electrical engineering. He will remember running, and climbing, and swimming until his lungs nearly burst. He will wake in the middle of the night from nightmares that he cannot recall, and no amount of soothing whispers will quiet him. Once, during an operation gone badly wrong, he will catch a glimpse of a man with a metal arm, and he will stop in his tracks, making Napoleon and Gaby trip over him in their haste, and they will lose precious minutes dragging him away. That night he will dream of hearing distant screaming, and of being unable to find its source. In the morning his partners will comfort him as best they can, with hands and lips and whispered reassurances, but only time will settle some demons, and he will find this to be one of them.

 

As an adult, he is intelligent, handsome, strong, tall - a perfect specimen, or so he is informed. The scientists are all smaller than him, certainly, and do seem to have more difficulty lifting objects that he hefts easily. They say they are proud of him, of his progress, and he can see that they tell the truth. They say that he will be of use to the USSR, and he can see that this is also the truth. One of his first assignments is a tricky bit of wetwork in Moscow, close enough to his handlers for them to track him easily, but difficult enough to test his abilities. He passes easily. 

 

His name is Illya Kuryakin now, and he knows that it always has been. His father was a high-ranking official who was sent to Siberia for graft; his mother sold herself to provide for him and his siblings. He has three siblings, one brother and two sisters, and they were all sent to school together. Their training was hard, but the glory of Soviet culture and the warmth of his siblings' affection made up for it. He does not know where his siblings are now, but they are busy, all four of them, always traveling, always working. He has a watch that was his father's, and he must never remove it.

 

Then there is an assignment in East Berlin. Then there is Napoleon, and Gaby, and his watch is stolen. When Napoleon throws something at him, he sees it is a watch before he catches it; had it been a grenade, he would have thrown it back. But it is undeniably his watch, though the watchface is 0.5 grams lighter. He puts it back on without comment.

 

The time after that will be difficult. Though he knows he has siblings, he is unused to physical affection, and the facility with which his lovers bestow it is confusing and painful for him. They, in turn, are frustrated by his inability to express himself. They often butt heads on both these topics and many others, but even more often find themselves wrapped in each other, an awkward tangle of limbs the morning after a long and satisfying night.

But weeks will stretch into months and years, and though they are just as frequently wrapped in each other in the morning, they find that they have grown accustomed to each other's rough patches, have learned where to push and tread lightly and steer clear. They no longer ask about his childhood, and he no longer pushes at their weak points, though both Gaby and Napoleon have them in abundance. They are all three of them alive to the possibility of harm from others, and it takes considerable time for them to see the possibility of healing.

 

The healing comes, though, with time, hard work, and the boundless love of his partners. Sometimes in fits and starts, and backsliding, and old habits, and long diversions that lead backward and forward and around in knots upon knots of memories and patterns and dreams. But it comes, nevertheless. And of all the things Illya is thankful for, the long lists he builds in sleepless nights with his lovers tucked close beside him, that is one that he returns to, again and again and again.


End file.
